The Wielder of the Waffle-Iron
by Maidenmothercrone
Summary: Malekith captures Darcy and tries to gain control of a powerful human weapon (Malekith / Darcy).
1. Chapter 1

How long had it been? Ten thousand years perhaps? 3,650,000 days: more hours than he cared to imagine, or spend the time calculating. It might as well have been forever. So long had he been driven by all-consuming purpose: to stamp out the scuttling infestations of the realms, and extinguish the harsh and tawdry light of the universe; to bring back the perfect darkness that shrouded all at the dawn of time. Even asleep, these desires had pervaded his thoughts, while his body was kept inert but alive by machines and magic. Now, awake again and burning with renewed life, Malekith found his mind and body plagued by different cravings. The machines had renewed his life-force, repairing damage and endowing his body with the physique and drives of a young man again. And it wanted to do what it was made to do.

It was an annoying distraction.

Malekith swept onto the bridge of his ship, with his dark cloak billowing like a wisp of smoke in a night breeze. His masked minions stood as he entered, inclining their heads in deference as he passed. To do otherwise was to invite pain and death. He stopped at the main bulkhead, where the various buildings and roads of Greenwich laid out in a 3-dimensional luminous display around three sides of the bridge. He stared expectantly at a high-ranking crewman until he gave a report. The news pleased him. The convergence was imminent. Now if only he wasn't feeling so damned horny.

His eye was caught by a small female figure carrying what appeared to be a bundle of silver poles.

She was not running, she did not appear to be afraid. She moved with purpose. Malekith turned to the closest minion.

'What is she doing?'

The minion hesitated. Malekith suppressed his irritation.

'I don't know my Lord.'

'Bring her to me!'

There was a dangerous moment where the minion hesitated, and Malekith's eyes darkened with the full destructive power of the Aether. Behind his implacable gaze the cloud swirled, promising darkness and a slow death. With the mission, with the vengeance, there was ageless purpose. Now there was an addition: passion. Somehow it seemed more dangerous.

"Right away, my lord," was the only sensible response, and Malekith turned back to the control panels with a suppressed growl. He had no fear of insubordination, not with the Aether coursing through his veins and elevating him to the status of a god, but he knew from old that in Svartalfheim a leader who became unstable was courting his own downfall.

He stared out at the young mortal, now engaged in driving a long metal spike into the ground, and his fingers curled unconsciously into fists as he leant forward.

It was probably for the best that Darcy didn't notice the dark elves creeping up on her until it was too late. At the very least, it meant that she was brought back to Malekith alive.

"…You guys better have a good lawyer, 'cause I'm going to sue your asses for … oh."

The mortal's chatter ceased and her eyes grew wide at the sight of Malekith. It pleased him. From long experience, he knew his form inspired fear and intimidation – all the more so since the Thunder God had seared half his face. While it had irked him at the time, he rather enjoyed his minions' hurried attempts to hide their revulsion quickly enough to keep their lives.

The girl didn't appear to be either intimidated or disgusted, however. She was looking at him with outright curiosity. He drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest, looking at her down his long, crooked nose.

"So what happened? You fall asleep on a waffle iron?"

His eyes widened slightly. That didn't sound like fear.

"A waffle iron? This is one of your weapons?"

Darcy burst out laughing,

"You will tell me." He beckoned two minions imperiously. "Take her to the interrogation room. I'll question her myself."

Pinned between the two minions, Darcy decided that perhaps a waffle iron _was_ some kind of a weapon. She didn't think Malekith would get the joke even if it was explained to him, in fact, she didn't think he was likely to get a joke at all.

Had Ian seen her being taken captive? She wasn't sure. He'd been following her around like a puppy and she'd sent him back to the car. Of course, he'd gone.

The interrogation room was dominated by what looked like a large dentist's chair and a steel table with a tray of instruments. The minions strapped Darcy into the chair easily. She did struggle, she just got the feeling they didn't notice.

"You guys work-out?"

If they reacted behind their blank, frankly kinda creepy masks, she couldn't tell. Great. Kidnapped by the gimp squad. And here came King Gimp himself, with the half of his face looking like toast and the other half –

Malekith paused in the doorway to issue orders to the goons, and the light caught the unscarred part of his face, casting his already deep eyesockets into deeper shadow. Somewhere in that shadow, a glint of red. Despite her determination to be unfazed by stuff, cold fear gripped at her. That was evil with a capital E, washing about inside there like Jell-O in a bowl.

Whatever she was going to say about that waffle iron, Darcy suddenly had the distinct feeling she'd better make it good. She tugged experimentally at the straps pinning her wrists. Nothing. And her ankles. Double nothing. She looked down and saw that the chair, obviously designed for torturing people much bigger than her, was holding her up off the floor, raising her, almost reclining, to the big scary guy's hip level.

"I am Malekith," the dude said, and his voice seemed to rumble through the metal of the chair. "Master of the Aether, Destroyer of the Nine Realms."

"Darcy. Mistress of the, uh, iPod. Wielder of the Waffle Iron of Truth."

She forced herself to look at him. His skin was smooth like bone on the unscarred side, his nose long and crooked, his mouth turned down in a permanent frown. And jeez, he had ears like a mutant kitty-cat.

Malekith raised an eyebrow. "_You_ are the wielder of the waffle-iron? Show it to me – now!" he demanded, looking the girl's body up and down to ascertain where the weapon might be concealed. To impress upon her the importance of responding, he strode across to the side of the chair and leaned over her, his hands pressed against her wrists, his face inches from hers.

"It – uh- it's somewhere you'll never find it," she said, tilting her head defiantly at him with the faintest trace of a smile.

Malekith scowled, then jerked his head back as an old but familiar feeling washed over him. It had been eons since he was alone with a woman, and now, here in the presence of this mortal waffle-warrior, with her full lips and her rebellious attitude, his body was reminding him - somewhat painfully - what it was like to be a man.

He lowered his head towards hers again, letting the Aether light his eyes and mesmerise the girl with its infinitely swirling depths.

"Then I shall have to be thorough in my search."

The woman was wearing layers of clothing that seemed completely unnecessary to Malekith, given the local temperature. Seizing a razor-sharp knife, he sliced through the seams on the arms of the bulky outer coat she wore, ripped off the buttons and spread the garment out flat, checking the pockets and folds for any trace of the deadly weapon he suspected was hidden within.

Nothing.

"Hey!" Came Darcy's indignant protest. "You got something against Burberry?!"

She had named her garment. It had felt dead in his hands when he had cut it and yet, she had named it. One does not name that which is not alive and sentient. If he had killed it, why had he not felt the life leaving it? Why did it not bleed?

Malekith pondered. Evidently these humans possessed more sophisticated technology than he had been led to believe. When he discovered who was responsible for that oversight he would make them suffer. Malekith did not like surprises.

From her words, it was clear his actions had caused the woman some pain. Perhaps the fate of this 'Burberry' would teach her the respect she so evidently lacked.

"If you wish to avoid further deaths you will tell me what I want to know."

The woman just stared.

Malekith leaned over and cut the top button from her blouse.

"Tell me."

"Never!"

He seized the flimsy fabric in both hands and pulled. Buttons flew across the room, pinging against the steel table.

"Hey! You stop that."

His reply was to tear the remainder of the garment off. When he was finished he leaned in close to her, his cheek almost touching hers.

"Make me."

Dude evidently thought he was all that. Somewhere deep inside Darcy's mind, the tiny thought managed to make itself known that maybe dude had a point. Y'know, just a little. In the right light. She could feel his breath on her face and that original tiny thought inside managed to kick the somewhat larger instinctive reaction of _ohcraphe'ssomuchbiggerthanme_ into full gear.

"I'm not frightened," she said, out loud, and Malekith's scowling mouth twitched. If that was a smile, it was in no way reassuring. He leant back, folding his arms, waiting for her move.

Maybe it was time for a bit of thinking. Jane always said "You're a smart girl, Darcy, but you just don't think." So maybe she could apply a little WWJD. But what the heck _would_ Jane do?

Think, Darce. Try not to freak out at the way dude's obviously eyeing up your winsome girlish body –

Hey, wait a minute. Hold the phone. When buff ripped aliens fell from the sky, what had Jane done? Forget the car thing. She'd taken the crazy alien home and made out with him. That had totally worked out for her.

She risked another direct stare at Malekith, trying to show him just how much she wasn't frightened, and ended up wrinkling her nose in realisation.

Dude was _definitely_ checking her out. OK.

"Hey. C'mere. Yeah, you, who'd you think I was talking to?"

He leaned in again, glowering. Darcy put on her best sultry pout.

"You didn't check in this for the waffle iron," she said, and wriggled as best she could in the restraints to indicate her bra (the really good one without the lace but with the watermelon slices printed on it).

She really regretted that it had been the good bra when Malekith's hand snapped out, ridiculously fast, and tore it apart.

There had been no weapon in the girl's chest-piece, at least not in the conventional sense. The sight that met his eyes immobilised him momentarily, nonetheless. It _had_ been ten thousand years, after all. Malekith suddenly felt very restricted in his dress uniform. The breastplate constricted, hampering his rapid breathing; his cloak was heavy about his shoulders, which roiled with tension, and his trousers were tight at the groin. Still, this was an interrogation, and he would see it through.

He leaned over her again, his tension barely contained. "Tell me where the waffle-iron is!"


	2. Chapter 2

Darcy gave an infuriating smile and wiggled slowly from side to side, shaking her head as she did so.

Malekith was distracted by the hypnotic dance for a moment, drawing his gaze back up to her face with some difficulty. "Then I shall continue to look for it."

Darcy shrugged, still smiling.

"And when I find it, I shall take your precious ipod too."

"Hey! SHIELD already stole one from me – no way I'm losing this one! Especially not to Barbie's uncle!"

Malekith didn't know what the insult meant, but he could not mistake the tone in which it was delivered. It stung, and brought a flush of heat to his sunken cheeks. Swinging away from the chair, he unfastened his cloak, tugged off his headpiece, and peeled back the breastplate from the flesh beneath. He turned to look over his shoulder at the prisoner.

"There aren't many places you can be concealing this weapon, Mistress of the Ipod. Do you want to do this the hard way, or the harder way?"

Darcy rolled her eyes at him and moved her head in a beckoning motion. Surprised, Malekith walked back over to her. Darcy waited until he was standing right by the chair. She wriggled her hand as far as she could in the restraints and grabbed.

Bingo! She gave a little squeeze and in what she hoped was a sexy, seductive voice asked,

"How hard can it be?"

Dude took a sharp breath in and went completely rigid, his face locked in an expression that looked worryingly like pain. Darcy hastily released her grip. "Let me out of these restraints and I'll let you search me all you like."

Malekith looked down at her triumphantly,

"Ah, ha! So, you do not have these weapons on you!"

Weapons? Geez! Dude has a one track mind!

"If you don't search me, you'll never know will you?" He made no move to untie her. Did Jane have this much trouble? Somehow she doubted it. "What are you scared?"

Malekith was confused. He strongly suspected this Mistress of the Ipod was leading him into a trap, or maybe she had been sent as a decoy. In spite of his misgivings, he loosened the bonds.

He stepped back, fully expecting the odd mortal to explode or lunge forward to attack him. But all she did was sit upright, flexing her wrist until she had one hand completely free and then rubbing ruefully at the other wrist as she freed that too.

"God. Look at this. That's going to bruise."

She wasn't even trying to cover herself. His gaze dropped again, unbidden, and stayed in place until her voice rose sharply. "Hey!" She changed tone again, this time to an appreciative purr. "I mean. Guess you're really great at…tying people up." She gave a peculiar gesture, freed hands outstretched, thumbs pointing up. "Kudos! That takes talent." His expression obviously wasn't giving her what she expected. "Seriously. You're the boss."

She looked him up and down, assessingly, that quirked little smirk in place as her eyes ran over the lines of his chest, down to the push of his hips under the black cloth. And stayed at that level. That almost-subservient downturned cast of her eyes was inflammatory in all kinds of ways and he had to move, grabbing her dark hair and yanking her forward so he could pull out the pockets of her trousers in his continuing search for this confounded waffle iron. Yes. Concentrate on the search. More strange things here: unfamiliar coins, circular pieces of rubber in sealed packets, scraps of paper –

The coins fell from his suddenly nerveless hand and rolled across the room as Darcy, gripping at his invading arms, accidently ran the nail of her forefinger directly across the exposed inner joint of his elbow. Breath hissed out of him in a long shudder: heat washed over his skin. He gasped, unable to stop the sound escaping, his eyes closing involuntarily.

Darcy clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle. "Ohhhh… that's kind of a g-spot for you guys, huh?"

The big dude didn't reply. But he did take a step or two back, rubbing his arm where she'd touched him and swallowing hard.

"Hope that's not the only one!" Darcy swung her legs over the side of the chair and dropped to the floor, ankles still shackled together. She hopped a little to regain her balance, and glanced over to where the pale alien guy was still trying to get his head together. She leaned back against the footrest of the chair and pouted at him. "Aw – did I scare you away?"

"Impudent mortal!" he snarled, bearing down on her and reaching for her hair again. Darcy was quicker and slipped in between his grasping arms, sliding a hand up his forearm, and bringing the sensitive spot to her lips.

Malekith, destroyer of worlds, host of the Aether, stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, his head fell back, lips parted, and his outstretched arm, its original mission forgotten, came down to land on Darcy's shoulder. His fingers tightened, kneading in an encouraging rhythm. Unlike most of his minions, who would never know the touch of a woman, Malekith had once enjoyed such contact, but he had been blissfully unaware of how much he had missed it.

While the girl's mouth moved deliberately across from his arm to the contoured flesh of his stomach, he wondered idly if the security cameras were recording so he could play this back later.

His skin was cool and smooth beneath her lips, his muscles hard as iron. She guessed the dude did work out after all. She moved upwards slowly, kissing, licking and almost starting to enjoy it until she wondered how old this dude was. Because if he was like really old then that would be totally gross…

Concentrate Darcy.

Good news was he seemed to be enjoying it. Her hands moved over his shoulders and around the back of his neck. His hair was soft almost like silk, it didn't feel like human hair at all, but of course, the dude wasn't human. When her hands found the thick braid that fell down his back she loosened the tie almost without thinking.

Malekith sprang backwards with a hiss. His eyes narrowed, a deep, red flame flickering malevolently within them. Darcy, perched on the very edge of the restraint chair's footbar, stared at him. He snarled at her.

"What do you think you are you doing?"

"Undoing your pony. Chill." The red flame thing was not cool. Not at all. Unless this is what always happened when scary aliens did it. Oh, wait. Maybe this was, like, some terrible social no-no. Maybe they had sex all the time and went crazy licking each others' elbow pits, but touching each other's hair? Nuh-uh. Maybe that was dirty. Maybe that was something you only got to do if you were married or something.

But she had to rescue this quick, because he'd been really warming up to her and there was no way she was going to waste all that ab-licking.

She sidled awkwardly forward across the room toward him, ignoring the snarling teeth, and concentrating on the hair she'd managed to loose. It was longer than she'd expected now it was free, and it did nice things to the shape of his shoulders now it was swinging about like that.

"You look great," she hazarded. Most men would go for that, right? His frown didn't get any deeper, but it didn't go away, either. OK. Right track. Maybe wrong century. She got just close enough, then dropped herself to her knees, scootching over so she could grab him tightly around the thighs and press her face against the hard leg muscles. He jolted.

"Oh great and powerful Malekith, wielder of the e-mail –"

"Aether."

"Whatever. You're totally the best and I beg and plead humbly that I be allowed to touch your awesome hair."

She punctuated her request with a sly stroke of her light fingers over the whammy area and was gratified by his almost inaudible groan. She risked a glance, turning her head sideways on his leg. Riiight. Barbie's uncle was definitely _not _built like Action Man in that department.

While she was pretty sure he hadn't understood one in five of the words she was using, her efforts were rewarded: he bent his knee, bringing his head forward and down, and she was shrouded in the silver-white curtain of his hair.


End file.
